Pur, Pur, Purr

This is the ‘-pur’ entry, as in the cities of Jaipur, Jodpur, Udaipur. Also, in between, there’s Pushkar, which can also be considered as one of the ‘pur’s. And then there’s Mount Abu but it’s only a mouse’s whisker away from the ‘pur’s.

Still, they all purr like happy young kittens, if you consider compulsive honking and innate shoving as purring. Because the upshot is that that’s what happened to us.

City sightseeing is kind of like football but without a ball or an opposing team; and you can also forget about the nine other teammates: you basically run as fast as your feet will carry you to ‘score’ as many sightseeing attractions as you can. Okay, it’s nothing like football; it’s more like pub crawling, if your goal is to see (and be seen in) as many places as possible: you get a taste, feel happier and then carry on.

First, there’s Jaipur with its buildings glowing pink in the evening sunlight, like cupcakes in the baker’s window.

Amber Fort – check.

The fort itself is an astonishing row of added buildings, creating a labyrinth-like, completely impractical structure, where you can get lost, if not for the hordes of incoming tourists and school kids on field trips constantly flowing towards the next inner yard like swarms of moths to a light bulb. Of course, there’s one way in and, after many staircases (hidden or otherwise) up and/or down, one unbelievable crowded way out.

The included ‘elephant safari’ – if you can believe that a ‘safari’ can be undertaken in the premises of one very old, very famous and very packed ex-palace – was one of the major Indian turn-offs that I’ve experienced, but I really have to mention it because, in its ludicrous way, it was an immensely bad choice. Anil gave us the money (900 rupees) to pay for the privilege of not walking up the steps to the fort, but rather comfortably waggle on the back of an elephant for about 10 minutes. But, as soon as we climbed on (after a good 20 minutes of waiting in a sunny, fully westernized line), the mahout (the elephant driver) clinging around the elephant’s neck asked us for the money: 1000 rupees. Even on the pink receipt we were holding in our hands (well, mostly in our pockets, because we were clutching our cradle on the back of the elephant) the price was clearly written. And that’s what we basically said. But the mahout simply wouldn’t give up. Only after we warned him with vigorous cries hinting to the elephant police (or, for that matter, any kind of police) did he give up harassing us and, after a few curse words and hard pokes right behind the elephant’s ears, took up asking for a tip of, say, 100 rupees, bluntly, shamelessly begging his way towards the fort. Seeing that neither this worked any better, he reached the undeniable conclusion: ‘Romania bad tourists!’ Bad karma be upon us, poor stigmatized travelers! Even in India.

See the pointy, weapon-looking thing the mahout holds in his hand?
Well, that's the 'steering wheel'

Learning how to weave a carpet – check.

After about three hours we had enough of the fort and, against all our wishes, Anil decided to keep us hungry for a little while longer and got us some good quality entertainment by taking us to a fabric painting factory, which, incidentally, also sold carpets and cloths. So, after a short lesson in manual block painting and carpet making, we got the longer, more extensive lesson in why to buy good quality carpets and silk trousers.

Jantar Mantar – check.

The ancient observatory is a good reminder of how I really sucked at both calculus and physics. The age-old, yet very accurate time measuring contraptions that use the sun and stars as guiding points still eludes me but the constructions – yes, more than one – are quite impressive, especially if you understand the way they work.

Largest ruby in the world – check.

We wanted to see at least the outside of the Hawa Mahal so we strolled around for a while, trying to shake off the countless ‘Come see my shop’s, but we had no chance of avoiding one: ‘Come see Krishna Temple!’ And we did, right opposite to the Hawa Mahal, where it was no surprise that we didn’t find a temple but instead a ‘Jewelry Emporium’ (every other shop in Rajasthan is either an ‘emporium’ or a ‘heritage’ of sorts) and a yoga master; who also happened to have been a chef in Italy; and a mineworker in India; and a jewelry dealer. Who happened to own – and was so kind to show us – the largest ruby in the world. He also graciously presented us each with a small rough ruby. I honestly do not know how in hell we managed to stay more or less composed and not spontaneously combust into a killer laughter, which, as it were, surely was not very far from the lips of our yoga miner either.

This is how my very own ruby looks like

Raj Mandir – check.

While we were politely refusing to buy the biggest ruby in the world, some kilometers away, Anil was standing in line to buy us (and him) tickets to a movie at one of the biggest cinemas in India. By the time we got there by rickshaw, he’d already purchased three tickets under the counter (50 rupees extra only) and was waiting for us to spend a good three hours watching ‘Student of the Year’, Bollywood’s newest blockbuster. An plain American movie has nothing over this high school drama: bad boys, fast cars, beautiful women in designer clothes, the must-have school clown, a gay teacher, family tragedy, the 10 minute break after the first hour and a half… And singing and Bollywood dancing! All with the volume turned up at maximum while virtually the entire cinema was whistling, clapping, shouting and gasping along. A rock concert would be quieter. Therefore,

New Indianing tip: however bad the movie is (and Indian movies have a strong tendency to suck), going to the cinema is definitely worth it because you’ll not find a better mood-booster than Indians at the cinema. It might be a good idea to bring earplugs.

City Palace – check.

A new morning to a serious tourist is like a school day to a prepubescent kid: you dread the part where you have to wake up early and you’d sort of like to get the day over with but still have some fun doing it. So we started out to visit the palace and saw more inner yards, pillared buildings, and imposing gates, which was fine (although, apart from the huge silver cauldrons in which the maharajah carried his water to Europe, I don’t remember what was special about the place).

Palmist consultation – check.

While we were sauntering on the streets of the old city, we stumbled upon the working quarters of one Dr. Vinod Shastri, Palmist and Astrologer and decided that we cannot leave everything to chance and we have to know our destiny, so to speak. So, we went in.

At the reception desk a young man avoided us, as happens to normal non-English speaking Indians, and signaled us to wait while concentrating all his attention on his cell phone. Indian waiting is usually unpredictable in length, but is rather on the longer side. This waiting, however, nearly got on the long side of the longer side, so we turned to the door where the receptionist stopped us. Right then, the fix phone line rang; the receptionist picked up; he nodded shortly and gave me the receiver; I put it to my ear and heard a voice, possibly from the other side of the planet (or so it seemed):

‘Hello?’ the voice said through the static.

‘Hello?’ I echoed him.

‘Yes. You want palmist.’ There really was a period at the end of his sentence; he could obviously read my mind, not just my palm.

‘Yes…’

‘You want today.’ Another definite statement. He knew me like the back (or, possibly the front) of his hand.

‘Yes, yes. Is possible now?’

‘Not now,’ came the voice from very far away. ‘Forty minutes,’ but he already knew we couldn’t make it back in time. ‘Or at 2 PM.’ That would be about two hours later. He knew we could make it!

… but we didn’t make it. I figured, there’s already somebody who can see my future, why should I have to know it too?